There comes a time in even the nicest person's life where someone pisses you off to the point where you spend ridiculous amounts of hours plotting revenge.
Myself, I have wonderful mental images that will pop up even when I'm talking to a person that annoys me. Sometimes they come at random times completely unannounced, and I float off into my happy place at very unfortunate times.
This is why I am not allowed to operate heavy machinery.
So, here are the top five diabolical scenarios that have popped into my head about people.
1. Driving off a cliff into a lake full of alligators. And pirhanna. And eels.
Think about it. More than likely they'll survive the crash. They'll crawl out of the car, thinking they're swimming to safety, when - *ZAP!*
*ZAP ZAP!*
*ZAP!*
Then the pirhanna - *nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble*
Then comes the alligator - *CRUNCH!*
*ZAP!*
*giggle*
2. The monster wedgie.
This could happen any number of ways. My favorite is a crane hook coming from a construction site while said irritating person in walking nonchalantly down the street. Perhaps they're whistling a nice little tune, thinking about little fairies and sunflowers.
*beep beep beep*
*hook*
*yank*
*AHHHH!*
*giggle*
3. Bob Saget/Full House marathons.
Sure, some people like the show. And it's ok, in small doses. But think about being tied to a chair for days on end with your eyes toothpicked open and your head secured to look only at a television screen showing nothing but that irritatingly syrupy sweet 80's hit show - commercial free.
*How wude!*
*you got it dude!*
*I love you Uncle Jesse!*
*NOOOOOOO*
*giggle*
4. Tom Jones.
Along the lines of that last one, I'm sure that there are people who love Tom Jones in all his innuendo laced disco glory. Do you know any of them? Yea, me either.
Picture the last one with the chair, without the toothpicks, and add very heavy headphones and a cd player stuck on repeat with no shut off button and no volume control.
*It's not unusual...*
*squirm*
*What's new pussy cat...*
*flinch*
*WHOA OOH WHOAH OOH WHOA OH OH*
*piercing scream*
*giggle*
5. Perfect Paranoia is perfect awareness.
I'm sure you have no clue as to the revenge plot behind this one - I'd be more than happy to explain.
First I would find a way to implant a tiny microphone into the collar of every shirt, jacket, and robe they owned. Maybe even going so far as to superglue one behind their ear while they slept.
Getting an idea here?
I'd whisper insane little nothings in their ear at all hours of the day and night, until they go so insane they subject themselves to Tom Jones and Full House marathons.
Whatcha doin?
"Who was that?"
This is your conscience.
"What the - "
If you build it, they will come.
"If I build what?"
Taste the rainbow.
*smacks themselves in the head a couple times* "What?"
Take me to your leader.
"Is this some kinda trick? Dude, this isn't funny."
So you like to see homos naked dude, that's cool, whatever.
"WTF??"
What's new pussycat? Whoa ooh whao oohwhoa oh...
"AAHHHHHH!"
I could go on for days, but I'll leave it at that.
So there you have it, number eleventy-seven. The sad thing about my being able to blog is that it opens the world up to the frightening way mind mind works.
What's even scarier - that ain't the half of it.
Until next time...
new posts
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Hooray for Boobies
Here's a fun fact: Aside from Oxygen, Silicon is the second most abundant element on Earth. 97% of it is in L.A. 38% of that is under Pam Anderson's shirt.
If I had a nickle for every time one of my guy friend told me they'd never leave the house if they had boobs - well, I'd have a ridiculously large piggy bank.
I don't get it. A good friend of mine nailed it right on the head when she said, "Seriously, boobs and butt are nothing more than selective fat placement."
...to which one of our male friends replied, "HOORAY SELECTIVE FAT PLACEMENT! WOO!" Accompanied by a strange little happy-dance hoe down.
You know why old women's boobs drag the ground as they get older? It's because the fat on their chest breaks down their backs and they can't stand upright. I'm serious - and it's worse the bigger they are. When I was in high school they didn't make bras any bigger than D's (and you were lucky to find those), so I had to have mine special ordered from NASA. When that got too expensive, I opened an account with Omar the Tent maker.
Let me tell you, if a bra strap breaks for an A cup, no one really notices - but if a DD comes loose - they have to evacuate 3 counties.
Think about that the next time you eyeball a big-breasted woman - one wrong move and *SNAP* - Death by Boobies.
Oh, I know what you're thinking guys - "Oh, but what a way to go!"
*rolls eyes*
...and your tombstone shall read: Thanks for the mammeries.
If I had a nickle for every time one of my guy friend told me they'd never leave the house if they had boobs - well, I'd have a ridiculously large piggy bank.
I don't get it. A good friend of mine nailed it right on the head when she said, "Seriously, boobs and butt are nothing more than selective fat placement."
...to which one of our male friends replied, "HOORAY SELECTIVE FAT PLACEMENT! WOO!" Accompanied by a strange little happy-dance hoe down.
You know why old women's boobs drag the ground as they get older? It's because the fat on their chest breaks down their backs and they can't stand upright. I'm serious - and it's worse the bigger they are. When I was in high school they didn't make bras any bigger than D's (and you were lucky to find those), so I had to have mine special ordered from NASA. When that got too expensive, I opened an account with Omar the Tent maker.
Let me tell you, if a bra strap breaks for an A cup, no one really notices - but if a DD comes loose - they have to evacuate 3 counties.
Think about that the next time you eyeball a big-breasted woman - one wrong move and *SNAP* - Death by Boobies.
Oh, I know what you're thinking guys - "Oh, but what a way to go!"
*rolls eyes*
...and your tombstone shall read: Thanks for the mammeries.
Monday, August 25, 2008
It's a 2 for 1 !!
I know exactly what you're thinking - "Wtf... why didn't I think of that?"
...I wonder if he also dressed up like a construction worker...or an Indian... or Elvis?
I bet editors of the National Enquirer are kicking themselves in the butt right about now...
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Talking in Your Sleep
I remember my Dad telling me once when I was a kid that he held an entire conversation with me while I was asleep - about molecular physics and jelly sandwiches.
*shrug*
So, while I was thinking about the most redundant subject possible to blog about, I decided I'd share with you a few of the things I heard and seen people do in their sleep.
...scary, isn't it?
We'll start with the anonymous Dr. Phil, who has a bad habit of starting a completely intelligent sentence while awake and falling asleep, still talking, and integrating a true story with movie scenes, random jokes, and song lyrics. This isn't a direct quote - because what he actually said was too long winded and random to remember exactly - it's just to give you an idea.
"...so then little Johnny stood up in class and was like, 'You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!' and Greenpeace looked at me and was like, 'dude, I'm a fighter pilot!' So then Riddick walks up and knocks the dude on his ass, It was great. And I thought, I should buy a boat! I am the walrus, but even if I was the walrus I'd still have to bum rides from my friends. Coo coo cachoo..." ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.................
Then we have my sister, with "Don't do that! They're only interested in the spaghetti straps on your carburetor..."
My friend *name removed in the interest of saving myself from being hunted down and beaten* , who didn't actually say anything - he just humped the couch.
My niece, "People. PEOPLE!" *wags her hand around like she's dribbling a basketball*
My daughter, "Give me the COOKIE!"
My friend T, "Oprah?"
My friend C, "I TOLD you it was a bad idea to poke the panda. I'm gonna kick your ass, Fozzy Bear."
...isn't insomnia great? If only I had owned a video camera all these years, I'd make a fortune on YouTube.
*shrug*
So, while I was thinking about the most redundant subject possible to blog about, I decided I'd share with you a few of the things I heard and seen people do in their sleep.
...scary, isn't it?
We'll start with the anonymous Dr. Phil, who has a bad habit of starting a completely intelligent sentence while awake and falling asleep, still talking, and integrating a true story with movie scenes, random jokes, and song lyrics. This isn't a direct quote - because what he actually said was too long winded and random to remember exactly - it's just to give you an idea.
"...so then little Johnny stood up in class and was like, 'You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!' and Greenpeace looked at me and was like, 'dude, I'm a fighter pilot!' So then Riddick walks up and knocks the dude on his ass, It was great. And I thought, I should buy a boat! I am the walrus, but even if I was the walrus I'd still have to bum rides from my friends. Coo coo cachoo..." ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.................
Then we have my sister, with "Don't do that! They're only interested in the spaghetti straps on your carburetor..."
My friend *name removed in the interest of saving myself from being hunted down and beaten* , who didn't actually say anything - he just humped the couch.
My niece, "People. PEOPLE!" *wags her hand around like she's dribbling a basketball*
My daughter, "Give me the COOKIE!"
My friend T, "Oprah?"
My friend C, "I TOLD you it was a bad idea to poke the panda. I'm gonna kick your ass, Fozzy Bear."
...isn't insomnia great? If only I had owned a video camera all these years, I'd make a fortune on YouTube.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Hide and Seek
I'm not sure if I'm the "cool aunt," or if I've unwittingly nominated myself family babysitter, but I've had a substantial rise in visits from my nieces and nephews in the past couple of weeks.
I'm not complaining - in fact, it gives me plenty of extra cannon fodder for my blogs...
I had my niece over today, since her brother and sister had band practice and she doesn't generally relish the thought of tagging along with her Daddy to domino tournaments while he waits for the other kids. Fortunately for me, she's old enough to entertain my girls without giving me another child to chase around trying to make sure nothing gets broken and nobody gets dismembered trying to execute WWE moves off the bunk beds.
She decided she wanted to get my girls together and play hide and seek with their Mommy - only, I'm pretty sure no one ever actually explained the concept of "hide and seek" to my oldest daughter.
The first couple of rounds went well, I found them quietly huddled up under the bottom bunk bed, then next to the couch. Then, probably due to the fact that our apartment doesn't have very many good hiding places, my niece sat me in the computer chair and ordered me to keep my eyes closed until she told me otherwise.
I did as told, sitting silent and completely still until I heard a door close quietly, and my niece's muffled voice telling me to "come find us!"
I played along, standing and walking around the room looking in silly places where they couldn't possibly be, musing aloud something to the effect of "Now WHERE could they BE?"
In response, came my oldest daughter's muffled voice - "WE'RE IN THE CLOSET!"
...followed by a very distinct "ARGH!" from my niece.
So, they piled out of the closet and my niece, looking obviously irritated, ordered me to close my eyes again. They tried hiding behind the chair I was sitting in, but I heard them and they had shuffled enough to bump into the chair, so I guess she decided that was a bust - and moved them back to the side of the couch, where she encountered a spider and came out as quickly as she had gone in, lunging for a shoe.
A few minutes passed, and I guess she figured enough time had gone by that I would forget all about the closet hiding place. I was again ordered to close my eyes, and again I heard them pile into the closet and shut the door as quietly as they could, after a whispered, "DON'T tell her where we're at".
"Come find us!"
Again, I made the mistake of asking where they could possibly be.
"WE'RE IN THE CLOSET!"
"ARGH!"
They all came piling out again, and my niece decided she was done with hide and seek.
So the moral of this story is: if you ever want an honest answer, just ask your kid. Oh, and don't play hide and seek with my daughter. :)
...and if I ever can't find my daughter in the apartment, I'll know exactly where to look.
Until next time...
I'm not complaining - in fact, it gives me plenty of extra cannon fodder for my blogs...
I had my niece over today, since her brother and sister had band practice and she doesn't generally relish the thought of tagging along with her Daddy to domino tournaments while he waits for the other kids. Fortunately for me, she's old enough to entertain my girls without giving me another child to chase around trying to make sure nothing gets broken and nobody gets dismembered trying to execute WWE moves off the bunk beds.
She decided she wanted to get my girls together and play hide and seek with their Mommy - only, I'm pretty sure no one ever actually explained the concept of "hide and seek" to my oldest daughter.
The first couple of rounds went well, I found them quietly huddled up under the bottom bunk bed, then next to the couch. Then, probably due to the fact that our apartment doesn't have very many good hiding places, my niece sat me in the computer chair and ordered me to keep my eyes closed until she told me otherwise.
I did as told, sitting silent and completely still until I heard a door close quietly, and my niece's muffled voice telling me to "come find us!"
I played along, standing and walking around the room looking in silly places where they couldn't possibly be, musing aloud something to the effect of "Now WHERE could they BE?"
In response, came my oldest daughter's muffled voice - "WE'RE IN THE CLOSET!"
...followed by a very distinct "ARGH!" from my niece.
So, they piled out of the closet and my niece, looking obviously irritated, ordered me to close my eyes again. They tried hiding behind the chair I was sitting in, but I heard them and they had shuffled enough to bump into the chair, so I guess she decided that was a bust - and moved them back to the side of the couch, where she encountered a spider and came out as quickly as she had gone in, lunging for a shoe.
A few minutes passed, and I guess she figured enough time had gone by that I would forget all about the closet hiding place. I was again ordered to close my eyes, and again I heard them pile into the closet and shut the door as quietly as they could, after a whispered, "DON'T tell her where we're at".
"Come find us!"
Again, I made the mistake of asking where they could possibly be.
"WE'RE IN THE CLOSET!"
"ARGH!"
They all came piling out again, and my niece decided she was done with hide and seek.
So the moral of this story is: if you ever want an honest answer, just ask your kid. Oh, and don't play hide and seek with my daughter. :)
...and if I ever can't find my daughter in the apartment, I'll know exactly where to look.
Until next time...
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Conspiracy Theory #34 - Contamination in the Gene Pool
Yea, I might already have a Conspiracy Theory #34, I don't care.
God help me if I ever try to compile my ramblings and put them in numerical order. *shudder*
Today's subject of my senseless rambling, in case you didn't already tell from the title, has to do with the genes our children inevitably inherit that you really sometimes wish you could just suck out and inject into the children of someone you really don't like.
Damn! I'm too nice... I wouldn't REALLY punish a child for their parent's stupidity, but the thought of the irritation inflicted on the parent definitely brightens my day.
WHAT??? Oh, like you've never considered it. Pfft, whatever.
Anyway, there are definitely traits you sometimes see in your children, that you know COULDN'T have come from you, that sneak up and shock you so badly that you're too busy wondering wtf to even correct them on what they're doing.
Still confused? Ever had your child suddenly run down the hallway - for no reason whatsoever and without any provocation - and run smack into the opposite wall, ON PURPOSE? Then, as if that wasn't enough, they pick themselves out of the floor giggling, and run back to do it again. THEN, to add insult to injury, they proclaim loud and clear - usually to a house full of visitors - "HEY!!! WATCH ME!"
*Run, zoom, SMACK!*
*giggle*
Then they sit in the floor gazing at their audience as though they're awaiting applause for their obvious need for a helmet.
You might as well wipe that perplexed look off your face, you're not fooling anyone. Every parent has had this - or something like this - type of scenario with their children. The type of scenario that has you online after your kids go to bed looking up your family tree to make sure your grandparents weren't cousins and there were no documented cases of botched lobotomies or mental illness.
Don't try to point out that a botched lobotomy would have been a surgical procedure and therefore incapable of being hereditary, I'm fully aware of this fact. I'm not referring to the procedure itself, I'm referring to the fact that a lobotomy is the removal of parts of the brain - and people do really, really dumb stuff when their brain isn't fully functional. Like mate with the first medical experiment reject they come across, or drink the water in Mexico. Hand someone a few beers if you don't believe me.
At any rate, I'll spare you the gory details of my own children's' "der der der" moments (save the smacking into a wall thing), but I will say that I seriously hope all that wall smacking knocks something back into place, because if my 6 year old tells me one more time the exact number of bubbles in her head, I'm going to scream.
Until next time...
God help me if I ever try to compile my ramblings and put them in numerical order. *shudder*
Today's subject of my senseless rambling, in case you didn't already tell from the title, has to do with the genes our children inevitably inherit that you really sometimes wish you could just suck out and inject into the children of someone you really don't like.
Damn! I'm too nice... I wouldn't REALLY punish a child for their parent's stupidity, but the thought of the irritation inflicted on the parent definitely brightens my day.
WHAT??? Oh, like you've never considered it. Pfft, whatever.
Anyway, there are definitely traits you sometimes see in your children, that you know COULDN'T have come from you, that sneak up and shock you so badly that you're too busy wondering wtf to even correct them on what they're doing.
Still confused? Ever had your child suddenly run down the hallway - for no reason whatsoever and without any provocation - and run smack into the opposite wall, ON PURPOSE? Then, as if that wasn't enough, they pick themselves out of the floor giggling, and run back to do it again. THEN, to add insult to injury, they proclaim loud and clear - usually to a house full of visitors - "HEY!!! WATCH ME!"
*Run, zoom, SMACK!*
*giggle*
Then they sit in the floor gazing at their audience as though they're awaiting applause for their obvious need for a helmet.
You might as well wipe that perplexed look off your face, you're not fooling anyone. Every parent has had this - or something like this - type of scenario with their children. The type of scenario that has you online after your kids go to bed looking up your family tree to make sure your grandparents weren't cousins and there were no documented cases of botched lobotomies or mental illness.
Don't try to point out that a botched lobotomy would have been a surgical procedure and therefore incapable of being hereditary, I'm fully aware of this fact. I'm not referring to the procedure itself, I'm referring to the fact that a lobotomy is the removal of parts of the brain - and people do really, really dumb stuff when their brain isn't fully functional. Like mate with the first medical experiment reject they come across, or drink the water in Mexico. Hand someone a few beers if you don't believe me.
At any rate, I'll spare you the gory details of my own children's' "der der der" moments (save the smacking into a wall thing), but I will say that I seriously hope all that wall smacking knocks something back into place, because if my 6 year old tells me one more time the exact number of bubbles in her head, I'm going to scream.
Until next time...
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Why I Will Never be able to Work in Customer Service
I'm the type of person who can work with people, if I absolutely have to, but for the most part I am better suited working in a dark, quiet corner all by my little lonesome. Why? I'm not sure really, but I know that generally if it came down to a choice between a series of painful shots in the kneecaps and dealing with the average customer, I'd inquire as to the exact number of shots.
Kidding! Well, sort of...
But the reasoning behind my inability to work effectively with the general public is that I'm violently allergic to stupidity (seriously - I swell up, start breathing heavily, and occasionally develop a momentary case of Tourette's Syndrome - among other unattractive, unfortunate side effects).
Here's a scenerio: I once worked in the shoe department of the local Walmart. As innocent and monotonous as this may sound, I promise you it wasn't a job for anyone with an IQ above 45 to expect to be able walk away at the end of the day without having lost a few brain cells.
Here's something that actually happened that proves my theory of my inability to cope with most of my fellow human beings:
Customer: "I'm looking for some shoes."
What I say: "You're in the right place," flashing that million dollar "I work at Walmart and I hate my job but I have to smile because I don't want to wind up in the unemployment line" smile, "How can I help you?"
What I'm thinking: No, really? I figured you were in the shoe department because you needed cat food.
Customer: "I'm not really sure what I want... But I want something cute... and comfortable...and not too expensive... that's going to last a while..."
What I say: "Well, let's take a look."
What I'm thinking: ...and you're shopping at Walmart? Still holding that pasted on smile, hmm, I should have brought my Vaseline...
What I Say: "Alright, what kind of shoes are you looking for? Sneakers, boots, dress...? Any particular color?"
What I'm thinking: Please don't say something stupid please don't say something stupid please don't say something stupid....
Customer: "I like pink!"
What I say: "Alright, let's see what we have here... What size?"
What I'm thinking: AARRGH!!!
Customer: "Size 10." Giggling like she's embarasssed, "Okay, 12."
What I'm thinking as I'm smiling politely and trying not to look at her feet: WTF? You're like, 5 foot nothing and can't weigh more than 110 soaking wet... I wonder if she would be offended if I asked her to wear a red nose and make balloon animal's at my neice's birthday party...
Customer: "But not like, hot pink, more of a pastel or rosey color... Ooooh my God I found the CUTEST pair of pink and white tennis shoes at Stage but they didn't have any in my size and they were like, 100 dollars! *ramble ramble blah, like, blah, blah, totally, blah blah blah blah shoes at blah blah blabbity bloo-blah blah blah, so... yea."
(It was at this point that I realized why my Dad's eyes would suddenly glaze over and he'd begin to drool during our conversations once I hit puberty.)
What I'm thinking while pretending to look for a color of shoe I already know I won't find but can't tell the customer because she won't believe me and will make me look anyway: You do know you're not supposed to DRINK the bongwater, right?
What I say: "Well, I don't see anything pink, would there be another color you might be interested in?"
What I'm thinking: There's about 3 pairs of women's shoes in the entire store that are size 12, can't you look for yourself?
Customer: *Heavy sigh* "I was really hoping for pink..."
What I said: "Well, I can look in stock and see if we have something there, but I can't promise anything..." I really did try to look as disappointed as she was.
What I was thinking while I eyeballed a pink highlighter: I wonder if she'd notice if I snuck back a pair of white ones and colored them? *Reaching for highlighter*
...This is where I had that moment where the little devil me popped up on one shoulder and the little angel me popped up on the other...
Devil: She won't notice.
Angel: Doesn't matter.
Devil: Not until she gets home.
Angel: It's not right.
Devil: By then you'll be gone.
Angel: Uh-uh
Devil: C'mon, you know you want to.
Angel: Nope.
Devil: She'll go away.
Angel: She'll be back, and unhappy.
Devil: Come to the dark side.
Angel: It wouldn't be moral.
Devil: We have cookies.
Angel: They'll go straight to your hips.
Devil: Chocolate chip...
Angel: Really?
Ah, crap...
So to make a long story short, I can play nice with the best of them, but if I work in a customer service industry for too long, I'll get fat and go to Hell for making fun of innocent people and plotting to deface store property just to get rid of them.
I will, however, refrain from mentioning all that in my future resumes....
Kidding! Well, sort of...
But the reasoning behind my inability to work effectively with the general public is that I'm violently allergic to stupidity (seriously - I swell up, start breathing heavily, and occasionally develop a momentary case of Tourette's Syndrome - among other unattractive, unfortunate side effects).
Here's a scenerio: I once worked in the shoe department of the local Walmart. As innocent and monotonous as this may sound, I promise you it wasn't a job for anyone with an IQ above 45 to expect to be able walk away at the end of the day without having lost a few brain cells.
Here's something that actually happened that proves my theory of my inability to cope with most of my fellow human beings:
Customer: "I'm looking for some shoes."
What I say: "You're in the right place," flashing that million dollar "I work at Walmart and I hate my job but I have to smile because I don't want to wind up in the unemployment line" smile, "How can I help you?"
What I'm thinking: No, really? I figured you were in the shoe department because you needed cat food.
Customer: "I'm not really sure what I want... But I want something cute... and comfortable...and not too expensive... that's going to last a while..."
What I say: "Well, let's take a look."
What I'm thinking: ...and you're shopping at Walmart? Still holding that pasted on smile, hmm, I should have brought my Vaseline...
What I Say: "Alright, what kind of shoes are you looking for? Sneakers, boots, dress...? Any particular color?"
What I'm thinking: Please don't say something stupid please don't say something stupid please don't say something stupid....
Customer: "I like pink!"
What I say: "Alright, let's see what we have here... What size?"
What I'm thinking: AARRGH!!!
Customer: "Size 10." Giggling like she's embarasssed, "Okay, 12."
What I'm thinking as I'm smiling politely and trying not to look at her feet: WTF? You're like, 5 foot nothing and can't weigh more than 110 soaking wet... I wonder if she would be offended if I asked her to wear a red nose and make balloon animal's at my neice's birthday party...
Customer: "But not like, hot pink, more of a pastel or rosey color... Ooooh my God I found the CUTEST pair of pink and white tennis shoes at Stage but they didn't have any in my size and they were like, 100 dollars! *ramble ramble blah, like, blah, blah, totally, blah blah blah blah shoes at blah blah blabbity bloo-blah blah blah, so... yea."
(It was at this point that I realized why my Dad's eyes would suddenly glaze over and he'd begin to drool during our conversations once I hit puberty.)
What I'm thinking while pretending to look for a color of shoe I already know I won't find but can't tell the customer because she won't believe me and will make me look anyway: You do know you're not supposed to DRINK the bongwater, right?
What I say: "Well, I don't see anything pink, would there be another color you might be interested in?"
What I'm thinking: There's about 3 pairs of women's shoes in the entire store that are size 12, can't you look for yourself?
Customer: *Heavy sigh* "I was really hoping for pink..."
What I said: "Well, I can look in stock and see if we have something there, but I can't promise anything..." I really did try to look as disappointed as she was.
What I was thinking while I eyeballed a pink highlighter: I wonder if she'd notice if I snuck back a pair of white ones and colored them? *Reaching for highlighter*
...This is where I had that moment where the little devil me popped up on one shoulder and the little angel me popped up on the other...
Devil: She won't notice.
Angel: Doesn't matter.
Devil: Not until she gets home.
Angel: It's not right.
Devil: By then you'll be gone.
Angel: Uh-uh
Devil: C'mon, you know you want to.
Angel: Nope.
Devil: She'll go away.
Angel: She'll be back, and unhappy.
Devil: Come to the dark side.
Angel: It wouldn't be moral.
Devil: We have cookies.
Angel: They'll go straight to your hips.
Devil: Chocolate chip...
Angel: Really?
Ah, crap...
So to make a long story short, I can play nice with the best of them, but if I work in a customer service industry for too long, I'll get fat and go to Hell for making fun of innocent people and plotting to deface store property just to get rid of them.
I will, however, refrain from mentioning all that in my future resumes....
Conspiracy Theory #11 - 5 Things That Will Kill our Conversation
You all know there are plenty of things that annoy me, or just plain piss me off due to the sheer stupidity of the matter.
...and yes, I know that I spend WAY too much time blogging about things that annoy me and piss me off due to the sheer stupidity of the matter.
But guess what? Look to the left of your screen. See the name there? SANDRA. Sandra's blog. I have an insane amount of opinionated aggression, a keyboard, a Blogger account, and a Publish button - and while I may not possess the ability to use them tactfully, I do have the ability to use them - and giggle about it later, while still being able to sleep like a baby at night.
...It's sad that I'm so proud of my authority over a blog that lives in a minuscule corner of the internet, but humor me, will ya?
I've already been over the retarded cliches that, if used, will irritate me enough to either walk away from the person using them or chase them down the road pelting them with random sticky pastries - so I won't go back over those, but if you missed them, you can find them here.
No, what we're covering today are subject matters (different thing, I swear!) that will make my eyes glaze over and roll into the back of my head (picture Dan Ackroyd in Coneheads after his daughter has told him that she's in love with her boyfriend Ronnie).
...and yes, I know that I spend WAY too much time blogging about things that annoy me and piss me off due to the sheer stupidity of the matter.
But guess what? Look to the left of your screen. See the name there? SANDRA. Sandra's blog. I have an insane amount of opinionated aggression, a keyboard, a Blogger account, and a Publish button - and while I may not possess the ability to use them tactfully, I do have the ability to use them - and giggle about it later, while still being able to sleep like a baby at night.
...It's sad that I'm so proud of my authority over a blog that lives in a minuscule corner of the internet, but humor me, will ya?
I've already been over the retarded cliches that, if used, will irritate me enough to either walk away from the person using them or chase them down the road pelting them with random sticky pastries - so I won't go back over those, but if you missed them, you can find them here.
No, what we're covering today are subject matters (different thing, I swear!) that will make my eyes glaze over and roll into the back of my head (picture Dan Ackroyd in Coneheads after his daughter has told him that she's in love with her boyfriend Ronnie).
- WOMEN, DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR WEIGHT. I know, I know - it's that time of the month, your jeans feel 3 sizes too small and you're retaining more water than Niagara Falls. I'm not talking about general conversation or genuinely looking for weight loss advice, I'm talking about women that fall into 2 categories - the skinny heifers fishing for compliments, and the all-you-can-eat buffet preferred customers. Don't aim your hate-mail trigger finger just yet - I fully realize there are people that can't help their weight due to a medical condition, and women who've just had babies (been there, nothing makes you want to cry about your body like 3 feet of loose skin and your intestines feeling like they're going to fall out your bum) - this one doesn't apply to you.
Skinny heifers - if you fumble with the half a millimeter of "fat" on your side, trying to pull it out to illustrate how disgustingly obese you are, I will slap you. Just for general purposes. Then I will tackle you, hold you down, shove a funnel in your mouth, and force-feed you pasta, milk shakes, and croutons.
Buffeters - if your weight bothers you so much, STEP AWAY FROM THE FORK. Simple as that. Don't gripe about how big you are while you're stuffing cheesecake down your throat - try this amazing aerobic move I like to call "PUSHING YOUR CHAIR AWAY FROM THE TABLE." If you like food too much and can't do either of these, then try being comfortable with who you are and not worrying about what anyone else thinks - because if I see you mouth the words "God I'm so fat, I shouldn't be eating this" around a mouthful of masticated chocolate cake, I will take you seriously, and I will steal your fork and make you cry.
- MEN, NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE SIZE OF YOUR TROUSER SNAKE, OR YOUR PAYCHECK. Same difference, in my book. I shouldn't have to explain this one, but for some of you out there - I don't just mean literally. Anything that refers to the amount of Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders you can bench press, the amount of phone numbers you can collect in any amount of time, what kind of car you have parked in the parking lot (imaginary or not) - all amounts to a giant, testosterone-driven, ego flexing pissing contest. I may be a chick, but that doesn't make me a bimbo - and despite popular belief, a woman's clothes won't magically fall off if you mention a 7-digit salary. Well... mine won't, anyway.
- If you're over the age of 15, don't gossip about celebrities. Especially if you're a guy - and DEFINITELY if you're a straight guy. Seriously. Do you golf on the weekends with Sean Connery? Do you go on umbrella bashing marathons with Britney? Odds are, no. If you don't know the person, and I don't know the person, I really couldn't care less who's dating, who just had a baby, or whose newly released controversial sex video you just downloaded.
- It's one thing to talk about some icky oozing disease you caught from a public toilet, but please don't try to show it to anyone. I don't know why on Earth one person would want to tell another person that they have some icky, oozing disease in the first place, complete with exactly how many salves and creams they require and how many times a day, and how itchy and burny it is (and yes, believe it or not, I have had a few people who, for some ungodly reason, thought they needed to tell me these things) - but rest assured, the mental image is disgusting and nightmare-inflicting enough. DO NOT, under ANY circumstances, think that it's even close to okay to disrobe any article of clothing - and don't be too surprised if I just quietly walk away as soon as you tell me that little tidbit of information, pouring sanitizing hand cream on myself from head to toe as I go.
On the same note, no one needs or wants to know too much about any of your bodily functions. If you have Irritable Bowel Syndrome and fart like a howitzer, I'm pretty sure everyone already knows. Don't bring attention to it - let's try to keep the friends you have, shall we?
Last but definately not least -
- Don't be a kiss ass. I know, you're thinking, "WHAT???" Seriously. If I look like shit, I KNOW I look like shit - so don't insult my intelligence and tell me how great I look. I also have a pretty highly tuned bullshit radar - I'll know if you're lying to me, and I'll probably have a pretty evil double-edged response waiting, complete with a syrupy sweet smile.
Hey - roundabout's fair play.
Until next time...
My Blogger's on Crack
Yea... So now my Blog is telling me I need to put up new posts or it's going to do it for me, apparently. I was finishing up moderating my comments when I got to a screen that said, "Your blog has been published successfully!"
Wtf?
Now if only I could get it to do that and publish more than just a couple nonsensical symbols, my job would be a whole lot easier.
I'll have to come up with a disclaimer though, just in case my automated Blogger decides to get all opinionated and nasty...
**All views posted herein are the result of a pissed off Blogger account and do not represent the views of the writer.
Think anyone would believe that? Didn't think so.
Time for Plan B.
Wtf?
Now if only I could get it to do that and publish more than just a couple nonsensical symbols, my job would be a whole lot easier.
I'll have to come up with a disclaimer though, just in case my automated Blogger decides to get all opinionated and nasty...
**All views posted herein are the result of a pissed off Blogger account and do not represent the views of the writer.
Think anyone would believe that? Didn't think so.
Time for Plan B.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
I Think I might be Psychic
No, really.
That's not a typo, I really meant "psychic," not "psychotic."
Why? Allow me to explain.
It could be the psychosis of parenthood or sleep deprivation, but I get Deja vu constantly. For instance, the other day my youngest daughter refused to stay in her bed at nap time. She came out into the living room and stood in the same spot at least 7 different times, each time with the same excuse - and the kicker? I knew she was going to do it. I know, right - freaky stuff.
The other night I had a dream I was being dismantled by a pack of ravenous wolves. The next day, the phone rang - it was a bill collector. The next night, I had a dream about being lost in Lilliput, with midgets frolicking crazily all around - that next day, my sis asked me to watch her kids so she could run some errands. Then I had a really weird dream about being chased by a giant rear-end trying to eat me alive - and of course, the next night my soon to be ex husband showed up to pick up my girls for his weekend.
Ok, I lied about that last one and, inappropriate as it may be, it's funny and I really don't care.
At any rate, there's a series of weird things too strange and numerous to mention here - and I don't even want to get into the whole pudding thing.
You can chock it up to coincidence or power of suggestion, but I'm calling the Sci-Fi Channel. Maybe I can get my own series.
I see a lot of rolling eyes and hate mail in my future...
That's not a typo, I really meant "psychic," not "psychotic."
Why? Allow me to explain.
It could be the psychosis of parenthood or sleep deprivation, but I get Deja vu constantly. For instance, the other day my youngest daughter refused to stay in her bed at nap time. She came out into the living room and stood in the same spot at least 7 different times, each time with the same excuse - and the kicker? I knew she was going to do it. I know, right - freaky stuff.
The other night I had a dream I was being dismantled by a pack of ravenous wolves. The next day, the phone rang - it was a bill collector. The next night, I had a dream about being lost in Lilliput, with midgets frolicking crazily all around - that next day, my sis asked me to watch her kids so she could run some errands. Then I had a really weird dream about being chased by a giant rear-end trying to eat me alive - and of course, the next night my soon to be ex husband showed up to pick up my girls for his weekend.
Ok, I lied about that last one and, inappropriate as it may be, it's funny and I really don't care.
At any rate, there's a series of weird things too strange and numerous to mention here - and I don't even want to get into the whole pudding thing.
You can chock it up to coincidence or power of suggestion, but I'm calling the Sci-Fi Channel. Maybe I can get my own series.
I see a lot of rolling eyes and hate mail in my future...
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Nautical Nonsense and Other Time-Waste Worthy Rants
I hate cartoons. I loathe Nickelodeon, the Disney Channel, and Cartoon Network.
It's not the stream of redundant cartoons that my children insist that HAVE to watch 24 hours a day, no matter how many times I tell them no or try to lure them away with crayons, swimming, or a semi-educational game of Candyland. It's not even the increasingly obnoxious theme songs that get stuck in your head after your children run screaming them through the house for hours (F is for FRIENDS who do stuff toGETHer, U is for YOU and ME... N is for ANYWHERE and ANY TIME AT ALL, DOWN HERE IN THE DEEP BLUE SEA...HA HA HA HA HA, HA HA HA HA HA, HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA....).
CURSE YOU, SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS!!!
No, it's the endless advertisements that are thrown unmercifully throughout each and every program, chock-full of "OOH SHINY"'s and "Tell Momma, 'I WANT THAT!'"
...and of course, they do.
The problem is, they don't just tell Momma they want that. And that. And that. And that... First they tell me. Then they tell me again. Then they argue with me when I say "no," or "not right now."
As if that weren't enough, my children have become walking ad agents for product slogans everywhere. I made waffles the other morning for breakfast - when I went to serve them, my oldest daughter said, "Momma, leggo my Eggo!" We made a trip to McDonald's a couple days later and she proclaimed to the cashier, "I'm lovin' it!"- complete with the "Duh Duh Duh Da Duh..."
Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? My television, after I shove it up Spongebob's absorbent, yellow, porous, nautical nonsensical bum. Why just Spongebob (and yes, I do realize that Spongebob is just a cartoon character plucked out of some sicko's depraved mind)?
I don't know exactly, but something about that squeaky machine gun laughing little fool just pisses me off.
Okay, not really - but you didn't really expect a grown woman to publicly admit that she actually LIKES watching Spongebob, did you?
Oh, crap......
It's not the stream of redundant cartoons that my children insist that HAVE to watch 24 hours a day, no matter how many times I tell them no or try to lure them away with crayons, swimming, or a semi-educational game of Candyland. It's not even the increasingly obnoxious theme songs that get stuck in your head after your children run screaming them through the house for hours (F is for FRIENDS who do stuff toGETHer, U is for YOU and ME... N is for ANYWHERE and ANY TIME AT ALL, DOWN HERE IN THE DEEP BLUE SEA...HA HA HA HA HA, HA HA HA HA HA, HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA....).
CURSE YOU, SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS!!!
No, it's the endless advertisements that are thrown unmercifully throughout each and every program, chock-full of "OOH SHINY"'s and "Tell Momma, 'I WANT THAT!'"
...and of course, they do.
The problem is, they don't just tell Momma they want that. And that. And that. And that... First they tell me. Then they tell me again. Then they argue with me when I say "no," or "not right now."
As if that weren't enough, my children have become walking ad agents for product slogans everywhere. I made waffles the other morning for breakfast - when I went to serve them, my oldest daughter said, "Momma, leggo my Eggo!" We made a trip to McDonald's a couple days later and she proclaimed to the cashier, "I'm lovin' it!"- complete with the "Duh Duh Duh Da Duh..."
Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? My television, after I shove it up Spongebob's absorbent, yellow, porous, nautical nonsensical bum. Why just Spongebob (and yes, I do realize that Spongebob is just a cartoon character plucked out of some sicko's depraved mind)?
I don't know exactly, but something about that squeaky machine gun laughing little fool just pisses me off.
Okay, not really - but you didn't really expect a grown woman to publicly admit that she actually LIKES watching Spongebob, did you?
Oh, crap......
Sunday, August 03, 2008
This Week's WTF?? - Alabama Voters Barking up ANY Tree, Apparently...
I think it's great that we've reached a point as a society where a woman, a racially mixed man, and a mentally challanged person can run for president without upheaval from closed minded bigots -
What's that? George W. isn't mentally challenged? My bad.
*dials lawyer & readies auto-respond system on comments*
But I must say, the world of politics is becoming a little too lax in their standards if we're nominating canines for the role of mayor. If I were Hillary or Barrack, I'd be pissed. In fact, I think if I were a resident of Fairhope, Alabama, I'd be dumbfounded at the very least. Then I'd move.
As it is, I'm a bit frightened.
Fairhope, Alabama - you should be ashamed. Or should I say, "Woof woof, woo rawr woof." Timmy's stuck in the well and he's too embarassed to come out.
I think I'll adopt a chihuahua. If a good trainer can make one talk and land a deal with Taco Bell, surely I could get my lil' pooch into politics, right? Might as well take my own slice of the insanity pie.
Until next time...
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